


(Less Than) Cruel Intentions

by culturevampire



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/culturevampire/pseuds/culturevampire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kommissar runs across Beca Mitchell unexpectedly in a NYC recording studio. Fascinated by the younger woman, and determined to see what might develop, Kommissar faces just one problem: Beca is convinced that she is completely straight. Watch as Kommissar sets out to convince her otherwise. Smooth jazz, sandwiches, a bet about someone's sexuality, and a fancy dress B.H-S should wear IRL.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Less Than) Cruel Intentions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crimsonmoon24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimsonmoon24/gifts).



> Crimsonmoon24 sent out a plea for someone to do a fic with the "Cruel Intentions" kiss, and I loved the idea. Here's looking at you, kid. Hope it came out okay!

New York City in October retained some of its muggy summer heat, but it was tinged with the cool edges of winter blowing in from the north. Beca Mitchell woke early, moving through her apartment quietly to avoid waking her roommate, a quiet photography student studying at NYU. Marcus had worked a wedding the night before, just one freelance job he held to pay for tuition and living fees. Beca left for work early, and Marcus came home late, but the two made their arrangement work amiably.

After graduating from Barden, Beca had secured an internship at Ripple Recording Studios, and scraped by while learning everything she could about the music industry. She was working to create demos, hoping she would find the next big artist for the label to promote. But right now, Beca was late for work, and she really needed to get going.

Beca dressed in her usual business attire consisting of a floral patterned blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt, with a thin blazer to ward off the early morning chill, and small heels to allow Beca to look most of the men she worked with in the eye. The clothing and heels were just one concession Beca had made to becoming competitive in her field. She also worked her ass off, arriving first to the studio and leaving late, listening to snippets of every demo CD in the slush pile, and writing copious notes on everything anyone above her ever said about taste, talent, and style.

Beca was competing against people who had gone to school in New York, and people who had family in the industry, and people who had more money and better connections than her. She was determined to defeat them all at any cost, and demanded nothing less than perfection from herself. Beca thought sadly of the last time she had been on a date; 3 weeks ago Marcus had set her up with a shy, gentle boy from one of his classes. Beca liked shy, sweet boys, but something about the encounter had seemed empty. There was a fire missing, and the lack of spark had reminded her of why she’d broken up with Jesse after graduation. Friendship wasn’t enough to sustain a relationship.

Trying to clear her head, Beca hooked her headphones into a retro CD player and began her daily dose of slush pile demos as she walked to work.

\--

Kommissar woke in a luxurious hotel suite in what Americans claimed to be the best city in the world. Kommissar simply found New York crowded, dirty, and expensive. DSM had been touring, playing concerts all over, and Kommissar was tired. She consistently dragged the group to perfection kicking and screaming, and it was exhausting. She and Pieter had scheduled a week long break for the group in the city; morale needed a boost, and the leadership duo needed a break. Pieter was taking his “break” in Soho with an indie music friend who was working on an album, and Kommissar had promised to drop by the studio to listen to some of his tracks, a few of which she had arranged. Kommissar was taking her vacation in a Hilton in midtown, but she was looking forward to going to the studio. Pieter’s friend was very talented, and his performance was raw and reminded Kommissar of why she loved music. Dressing casually in a black t-shirt, skinny jeans, ankle boots, and a fitted black leather jacket, Kommissar started out early, hoping to avoid some of the hustle and bustle of the workday commute.

\--

Beca turned all the lights in the studio on, started the coffee, laid out the breakfast bars and the fruit, and did the thousand other small tasks necessary to keep the studio staff functioning, before claiming the booth she was allowed to use before the studio officially opened. She was working on a track by a young female artist she’d found while trawling open mic nights. The project was being completed in her free time, since the studio wouldn’t even consider the artist, Megan Kellis, without an EP. Beca had the vocals recorded and was working on layering in electronic accompaniment, which took a ton of work to keep it from sounding flat and boring. She was also singing back-up and harmony, and had to work to move between the booth and the studio to record herself.

Setting the levels and making sure the mic was hot, Beca rushed into the booth, trying to beat the 5 second lag on the track before the song started. She clamped the headphones on and got lost in the music, layering her vocals in one track at a time. Beca was concentrating so hard on getting the track perfect that she didn’t notice a tall figure enter the booth and sit carefully at the sound board.

\--

Kommissar didn’t recognize the stylishly dressed figure singing in the studio at first. But when the track dropped and the woman began singing, Kommissar realized she was looking at Beca Mitchell, the former leader of the Bellas. The three months that had passed between the World’s competition had been kind to the Beca. Someone had shaken the girl out of her grunge phase and into clothing Kommissar approved of. Listening to Beca sing, Kommissar realized her eyes were tracing the long column of the girl’s neck, and following the movements of her lips as she sang her heart out. Kommissar smirked, shaking her head at herself.

 _The first break I give myself, of course I want to fall into a fling._ Kommissar smirked, recalling that the brunette had been the one to flirt and come onto her the last time they had met. _We were both too busy then, but now?_ _It shouldn’t be too difficult to reach an… understanding._ Kommissar stood, setting herself up next to the door so Beca wouldn’t immediately see her when she walked into the room.

Beca rushed back into the booth, heading for the sound board and the computer, and hitting buttons and switches to stop the recording. Sitting back in her chair and turning to check the clock behind her, she was startled to see the blonde woman who was waiting for her. “What the- I mean, hello, can I help you? The studio isn’t open yet, but if you have an appointment I can set you up in the waiting area with some refreshments?” Beca turned her chair to fully face the stranger, ready to adapt the cool secretarial persona she perfected to deal with new talent and agents.

The woman standing against the wall stepped forward and said carefully, “So formal, little maus? Anyone would think you don’t remember me.”

Beca squinted, a tiny alarm going off in her head. She ignored the voice shouting ‘ _back, Satan’_ in her head, and said, “Kommissar? What are you even- how did you even get in here?”

“Security let me into the building. I am waiting for friends, and I have a guest pass. And you, little maus? Did you scurry in from the street?”

“I work here,” Beca said defensively, bristling a bit. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do before everyone gets here.” Kommissar watched with surprise as the brunette turned her chair away from her and began fiddling with the computer again.

Inside, Beca was less than composed, but she was preoccupied, and didn’t like being interrupted at work, especially by the star of her carefully denied wet dreams. _Whatwhatwhat_ Beca thought. _Nope, gay panic ended in college. And I’m 100% straight, so just put that little thought aside._ Beca’s panicked internal monologue was interrupted by a throat clearing.

“I believe I was promised refreshments?” said a cool German voice.

Beca played along with the German menace, pulling on her mask and giving up any hope of getting Megan’s track done today. “Coming right up, _ma’am_.”

Beca watched smugly as Kommissar narrowed her eyes at being ma’am’d, but didn’t give her a chance to protest, brushing past the blonde (and adamantly _not_ noticing how good Kommissar smelled, dammit) and walking briskly through the maze of corridors to the waiting room. Kommissar kept up easily, still taller than the brunette, and having more practice remaining mobile in heels.

Kommissar watched as Beca prepared a coffee for her, before dropping her first line in her quest to rile Beca up. “I am happy to see you have found a steady job doing janitorial work, little Bella. I worried, you know, that your star would burn out after World’s.” Kommissar smirked as she took the first sip of coffee, waiting for the Bella to react.

“You-” Beca sputtered, “Janitorial?!”

“Shh, darling, it is honest work, nothing to be ashamed of. When I learned you were living in New York, Pieter suggested you must have your own corner by now. So, you see, you have already risen above expectations.” Kommissar’s face was serene, waiting to see her little maus’s fire.

Beca fumed as Kommissar stood in front of her, delivering insult after insult. “Not all of us are gorgeously sculpted German musical geniuses with perfect legs, you know, but I’m doing alright!”

Kommissar raised an eye brow, before saying, “Oh? And what are you doing that you defend so strongly?”

“I’m following my dream, you evil siren; you’re probably running all over the world, seducing everyone with your perfect body and flawless voice, but I’m working my ass off trying to make a name for myself in my field. You waltz in here, 2 months after I’ve finally-“ Beca cut herself off before she said ‘ _stopped thinking about you every minute of every day_ ’ and finished with a quick “begun making any progress.”

Kommissar hid her smirk behind her coffee, taking a sip to compose herself before saying, “I see.”

“Yeah, you’d better see, now can I get back to work?” Beca crossed her arms and waited for the other woman to answer.

“You may,” Kommissar said graciously. “I will accompany you. It is drafty in this room. The other room was much warmer.”

Beca rolled her eyes but allowed Kommissar to follow her. She expected the German woman to talk and not let her work, but to her surprise, Kommissar simply took a seat in the swiveling chair next to her and used her phone, letting Beca work in peace.

Beca snuck the occasional glance at her silent neighbor, but otherwise immersed herself in the track. Kommissar’s phone went off at the same time the studio officially opened. Beca saved her work and logged off, standing and stretching, then turning to Kommissar to say, “This studio is booked, so we have to leave now.”

“Very well; Pieter and Sam have just arrived and are on their way. Perhaps you can show me out?” Kommissar said cordially.

Beca led Kommissar to the front door, where Pieter and his friend Sam were waiting for Kommissar. Beca smiled graciously at Sam, shaking his hand and saying warmly, “Welcome back, Mr. Kiln. Studio 8 is ready for you. Mr. Ripple said we could get started, if you’re ready?”

Sam smiled fondly at Beca, replying, “Absolutely, Becs. I mean, Ms. Mitchell. Oh, have you met Pieter and Kommissar? They are going to be consulting with me today. Kommissar wrote and arranged “Back Deck,” did you know?”

Beca tried not to groan, and was about to respond before Kommissar cut in smoothly, saying, “Yes, Ms. Mitchell is an old friend.” She ignored Beca’s snort and continued, “I did not realize you knew her, Sam?”

Sam shook his head, smiling, and said, “Beca claims to be a lowly intern but she got me, and at least four other artists contracts. She worked with me on my EP after she heard me performing in a bar to drunk people. She isn’t doing any official work on this album, but she had everything to do with the first one. I let her tag along on my sessions, and I never regret it.”

Kommissar quirked an eyebrow at Beca, murmuring, “Making progress, _kleine maus_? It sounds as if you have been overly modest.”

Beca turned a little pink, shrugging before saying, “It doesn’t mean anything until I’m the executive producer. Sam’s being generous, besides.”

Kommissar caught Sam’s eye, but he held up his hands, sheepishly saying, “I never argue with her unless it’s for creative reasons.” He lowered his voice, whispering, “She can be scary for someone so tiny.”

Pieter stepped in, asking, “Is there a place for us to get a coffee?”

Beca said, “I’ll get you set up in the booth and then get you all some refreshments.”

Sam smiled. “Lead the way!”

\--

Kommissar grew more intrigued by the former Bella as the day went on. She watched Beca move between 3 different studios, checking on the artists and the producers, and consulting informally with each. She carried around a notebook that was covered in scribbles and technical jargon, and always had one earbud in, absently frowning or looking thoughtful at whatever she was listening to. Kommissar had never seen someone juggle so many things at one time without losing control of something. For her part, Kommissar stayed out of her way as much as possible, recognizing how difficult it must be for the girl to concentrate for so long.

Lunch rolled around and Kommissar offered to help Beca with the lunch run; the brunette protested for a moment, but eventually gave in. The two women left the studio and headed for a nearby sandwich shop, where Kommissar watched Beca chat easily with the boys behind the counter.

“I got your order here, Beca.” Kommissar watched as a sandy haired man handed Beca a bag, then grabbed her hand as she reached for the food.  “Hey, want to go out with me tonight? I hear Bastos is having a special over at 85 West.” He waited for Beca’s response, still holding onto the other woman’s hand, Kommissar noted a bit angrily.

Beca smiled and gently pulled her hand away, saying, “Sorry, William, you know me- I never take a night off.” William grumbled a bit but accepted her rejection. Kommissar’s death glare from behind Beca may have had something to do with how easily he let the subject go.

Kommissar took one bag from Beca as they walked back to the studio, waiting a bit before saying, “You were right to say no to William.”

“I know that.” Beca huffed. “He’s nice, but I’m just not…”

“Not interested in nickel night at the local watering hole?”

Beca looked at Kommissar anxiously, and said quickly, “I’m not shallow, I don’t think I’m better than anyone. But I’m waiting for something special, you know? God, why am I even telling you this?”

Kommissar tilted her head to the side, looking Beca in the eye. “You are telling me this because you value my opinion.” Kommissar straightened, continuing, “I have impeccable taste, and infallible judgement, after all. But allow me to make you a more appealing offer than sandwich boy; come out with me tonight.”

Beca stopped walking abruptly, looking at Kommissar strangely. “Seriously?” She finally said after a long pause. Kommissar tried to keep from shifting nervously. “I am, as the Americans say, deathly serious.”

“Dead.” Beca corrected absently, thinking about it. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“I am thrilled by your excitement” Kommissar said dryly.

“Oh, um, you meant go out as in-”

“As in a date, yes.” Kommissar said. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem” Beca replied quickly. “I was just surprised. I guess I thought…” Beca trailed off, and Kommissar picked up her train of thought, and moved to continue walking to the studio. “You thought I was straight? Was it because I did not respond to your advances when you were blatantly flirting with me?”

“I was NOT flirting, I was just… I had some weird sickness and I… yeah, no, I was in a weird place with my boyfriend and I was being a little rebellious, I guess?”

Kommissar snorted, “Rebellious? Darling, you are at the very least bisexual, possibly completely gay.”

Beca hefted the bag of sandwiches in her hands, feeling defensive, before saying, “I’m _not_ gay- I just don’t have time to date right now.”

“Oh dear; shall we make a little bet, klein maus?” Kommissar was determined to get Beca out on a date with her; the brunette might be denying their attraction, but Kommissar wasn’t about to let the other woman get away with denying that she might have a tiny thing for women in general.

“Yeah,” Beca brashly said, “Sure, what’s the bet, and what are the stakes?” By this time the two women were at the studio and Beca stopped outside, facing Kommissar.

“I bet that after one date with me you will admit that you find me irresistible. If I am wrong, I will give you two tickets I received to see the Rockettes this winter. If I am right, well… that will be a reward in itself, no?”

Beca thought it over, then said, “If you win, I buy you dinner; is that fair?”

Kommissar stuck her hand out, nodding as she said, “We will shake to seal our deal.”

Beca cautiously took hold of Kommissar’s hand. The other woman grasped her hand and stepped closer, leaning down and whispering, “I look forward to our date, Beca.” Beca felt a hand slip something into the pocket of her blazer. “Room 312.” Kommissar said lightly. Then, in a twirl of the revolving glass door and a bag of sandwiches, Kommissar was inside the studio, and Beca was standing outside, wondering what the hell she had just agreed to, and why her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest.

\--

That night came too quickly; Beca met Kommissar at her hotel, knocking on the door of the German’s suite before letting herself in using the keycard. “Kommissar?”

“Just a moment, darling.” Kommissar exited the bathroom, putting an earring in one ear, and carrying her heels in the other hand.

“Shit.” Was all Beca could say. Kommissar was wearing a tiny black dress with a shiny silver zipper running from the top of the front of the dress all the way down to the bottom. One pull of that tab and…

“So,” Beca said too loudly, trying to distract herself. “Where to first?”

Kommissar finished pulling her heels down and moved forward towards Beca. “Not so fast, little maus. Let me see you.” Beca tried to keep from blushing as Kommissar’s lapis blue eyes ran from the top of her head down to her toes, taking in shining brown hair done carefully in tousled curls, and her red dress with the low cut back and cut out shapes in front.

“You look simply delicious” Kommissar purred, moving closer to kiss each of Beca’s cheeks in what might have been a standard European greeting _or_ could have been a shameless attempt at winning a bet. Whatever it was, Beca’s head swam as she breathed in Kommissar’s perfume, and her cheeks burned where Kommissar’s lips had brushed them.

Kommissar smirked faintly at the bewildered look on poor Beca’s face. ‘ _This will be all too easy’_ the tall German thought.

\--

Beca’s new strategy was to stay far, far away from Kommissar. Unfortunately for her, the other woman figured her tactic out quickly enough. ‘ _Trying to get in the front seat of the cab might have been taking it too far_ ’ Beca thought sadly. So now, she and Kommissar were in the back seat together, and Kommissar had somehow ended up buckled in the middle seat, with her long legs bent into Beca’s side. Beca looked at her reproachfully.

“What?” Kommissar asked, her accent slurring the ‘w’ slightly into a ‘v’ sound. “Don’t act all innocent. I know what you’re trying to do.” Beca gulped as Kommissar grinned evilly at her and rubbed her long, bare legs against Beca’s. “Ah, but you are of course, unaffected, are you not?”

“No, I mean, yeah. I mean, who could be unaffected with legs as soft as yours rubbing all over them?” Beca fumbled.

“I hear that, sister.” The cabbie interjected from up front.

Kommissar’s grin was predatory as she looped one arm around Beca, and began rubbing her hand up and down Beca’s arm. “You know, you could give up, and we could enjoy this date more completely,” Kommissar cajoled.

Beca giggled nervously. The cab stopped, and Beca sprang out into the street, barely unbuckling in time, and nearly getting hit by a bicycle in the process. Kommissar paid and followed more slowly, coming to stand beside Beca on the sidewalk. “You have a little something…” Kommissar said, reaching to tuck a piece of Beca’s hair behind her ear, then sliding her hand down the other woman’s neck, shoulder, and arm, finally grasping her hand and clasping their fingers together. “Smooth” Beca muttered.

“Thank you, darling. I wish to hold your hand. That is not so bad, yes? Just two, how do you say, ‘gal pals’ holding hands and entering the best gay jazz club the city has to offer.” Kommissar got the feeling she would be smirking every time Beca made that particular facial expression; the one that said ‘I am too confused to breathe’ and also ‘I’m about to run away as fast as I can.’  

The two women entered the club. Inside the atmosphere was relaxed; tables were set up around a dance floor, and a big band was playing popular jazz hits. Beca fell in love with the place immediately; she was a sucker for live music.

Kommissar led Beca to a table she’d had reserved for them and ordered a bottle of wine, before asking Beca if she’d like to order appetizers. Once the two women had placed their order and the waiter disappeared, Kommissar turned to Beca. “Would you honor me with a dance?” Beca looked around, noting that many couples were on the dance floor, before nodding. Kommissar stood, holding a hand out for Beca. On the dance floor, Kommissar wrapped one arm around Beca’s waist, resting her hand on Beca’s lower back, before grasping Beca’s other hand and beginning to lead her around the dance floor. Beca’s free arm went around Kommissar’s neck; as the two women danced, Kommissar pulled Beca in closer, and began speaking in her ear. “Did I tell you that red is my favorite color? It is a color that is alive with such passion; it speaks of promises of more.”

“But you wore black,” Beca pointed out. “Yes; black is a color that tells you that I am taking this date seriously; it is classic and elegant. It also has the benefit of going with everything. Any color you chose to wear, my dress would have matched.” Kommissar twirled Beca out, and caught her as she twirled in again. “Red looks lovely on you; and it emphasizes the blush on your cheeks when you become flustered by my nearness.”

Beca felt like stomping her foot. “I do _not_ get flustered by your nearness. I become nervous, maybe- but that’s because you are physically flawless.”

Kommissar raised her eyebrow at Beca but did not comment. After one dance, the two women retired to their table, and shared the bottle of wine Kommissar had opened. Soon, that bottle was gone, and a second had replaced it. Beca was feeling more relaxed, and noticed when Kommissar pulled her chair closer, but couldn’t feel alarmed.

“Why are you so sure you are straight?” Kommissar asked a bit bluntly.

Beca thought for a moment. “I just… I just know, alright? I always pictured myself marrying a guy, settling down with a man, raising kids.”

Kommissar held up her glass of wine, watching the color as she swirled it around. “Your argument does not convince me. You could do all those things with a woman.”

Beca’s mouth opened, then closed. “Have you ever kissed a woman?” Kommissar asked, leaning in a bit.

“No- why would I?” Beca said quickly. Kommissar chuckled, before responding, “My first kiss was with a friend when I was a girl. She said she wanted to learn how to kiss. May I show you how I learned?”

Beca hesitated, but Kommissar said, “One kiss does not make you gay, Beca. It makes you curious.”

Beca nodded, and Kommissar lowered her wine glass and reached up to cup Beca’s cheek. “Close your eyes and wet your lips,” Kommissar whispered. Beca did, and Kommissar leaned in, gently grazing Beca’s nose with her own,  and then barely grazed Beca’s lips with hers. Beca followed as Kommissar pulled away. “That was how the first kiss went.” Beca opened her eyes, watching as Kommissar licked her lips before speaking. “I was an innocent; she had to tell me, ‘I am going to stick my tongue in your mouth, and you are going to massage my tongue with yours.’ May I show you?” Beca nodded, her mouth too dry to speak.

Kommissar leaned in, tilting her head slightly to the right, and whispering, “Eyes closed, Beca.” Beca closed her eyes, and this time, Kommissar moved in more slowly, landing her closed lips on Beca’s top lip, before opening her mouth against Beca’s, but not making complete contact. Instead, Kommissar carefully touched just the tip of her tongue against Beca’s while their lips were together, pulling away slowly. Kommissar almost crowed with victory as Beca’s tongue moved further into her mouth, but kept her distance, plotting to leave Beca wanting more. The next time Beca’s tongue touched hers, Kommissar nipped it gently, before closing her mouth over Beca’s top lip and pulling away completely. Kommissar smiled as Beca, eyes still closed, followed after her, leaning in for more.

“And that was how I realized I liked women,” Kommissar said in a sultry tone of voice. Beca sighed and opened her eyes. “That was cool,” she said in a dreamy voice. Kommissar smiled at Beca before taking a sip of her wine. “Kisses with men never felt like that for me.” Kommissar’s voice was quiet. “I did try to be straight, for a time. I found it was… difficult to live without passion.”

Beca leaned back in her chair, holding her wine glass and thinking about failed dates and doomed relationships. She shook her head and put her wine glass down before standing and holding a hand out to Kommissar. “Dance with me. Please?”

Kommissar stood, taking Beca’s hand. “Gladly.”

This time, Kommissar didn’t have to pull Beca in close; the shorter woman held Kommissar tightly, and rested her head on Kommissar’s shoulder as the two women swayed to the soft, slow jazz.

\--

The night after that point was much more relaxed. Neither woman was thinking about the bet; when the evening ended and the cab came to pick them up, Beca gave the cabbie Kommissar’s hotel name, and leaned against the tall blonde the whole ride back.

At the hotel room door, Beca hesitated. “I’m not sure I’m ready to-”

Kommissar stopped her with a finger over her lips. “There is no pressure, no expectations. I have enjoyed my evening. I would like to change into more comfortable clothes, and just talk. Please join me?”

Beca nodded, and stepped into the suite. Kommissar gave Beca a bathrobe from the closet, and the two women sat on the couch together with one last glass of wine, talking about music, and performance, and many different things. Finally, Beca shyly put her glass down, and said, “Kommissar, please, would you kiss me again?”

Kommissar moved closer, put her arms around Beca, and kissed her deeply. Beca’s arms went around her neck, and her fingers tangled into Kommissar’s curls. Beca felt drugged; each kiss was warm and sweet and lit a fire within her. She finally had to pull away for air. Kommissar traced Beca’s bottom lip with her thumb and said softly, “Stay with me? No pressure, darling. I just want to hold you tonight.”

Beca smiled, and said, “I would love that. I guess that means you win?”

Kommissar pulled Beca closer for another kiss, saying against her lips, “I think we both won this time.”

 

 


End file.
